


Do Not Wtach

by charivari



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Amateur Pornography, DomArcee, Exhibitionism, F/M, Fantasizing, Femmes with spikes, Fingering, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Roleplay, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, SubSpringer, Topping from the Bottom, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-27
Updated: 2015-11-27
Packaged: 2018-05-03 15:09:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5296082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charivari/pseuds/charivari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Magnus finds a vid file marked 'Do Not Wtach' in his ship's deleted files. Curiosity gets the better of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Do Not Wtach

**Author's Note:**

> Because G1 Magnus in my mind is a sexually repressed perve, who needs to pay more attention to his needs.
> 
> And even though she's a sweetheart, G1 Arcee is a dom in the berth.
> 
> And Springer is just... Springer and I love him :3

Ultra Magnus likes to keep things tidy. That includes his ship's database. Every so often he'll check the recent deleted files, making sure they're irrelevant before erasing them completely. This cycle he finds only one file, one marked Do Not Wtach.

His mouth tightens into a frown. Not only at the sloppy mispelling but the fact it's a vid file. Probably from one of the security cams.

Do Not Wtach.

He has clearance to view any file. As a precaution he scans it for viruses. The scan comes up clean and he opens the file.

A close-up of Springer’s face leers at him suddenly.

“Is it on?” he hears Arcee’s voice in the background.

“Yeah,” Springer retreats from the lens, revealing their shared quarters. Arcee is sitting on the berth.

Magnus watches Springer move towards her.

“How do you want me?” he says.

“On your knees, aft up.”

The answer jolts Magnus. A sense of dread dawns on him as Springer crawls onto the bed. It’s a strangely subservient pose, on his elbows and knees, his helm down, hips raised. Arcee slips into place behind him. Magnus is panicking before she reaches to place her hands on Springer’s aft.

He should turn it off, before this goes any further. But he’s distracted by Arcee’s voice, low and purring, so unlike her usual lilt, as she leans across Springer’s backstrut,

“Have you been a bad mech Springer?”

“No,” Magnus is amazed by the change in Springer’s voice, it’s tiny and mewling, “I’ve been good.”

“Oh,” Arcee’s servos trace over Springer’s aft, “You haven’t self-serviced lately?”

Springer appears to tremble.

“Yes,” he admits after a moment, in that strange fragile voice, “I’m sorry!”

Arcee hums as her servos gravitate a little lower,

“Who were you thinking about?”

Springer whimpers. A noise Magnus didn’t think the large mech’s vocalizer was capable of.

“Answer me Springer,” Arcee orders.

One of her servos slips between Springer’s thighs. From the camera’s angle Magnus can’t quite see what occurs next, but he imagines she is stroking Springer’s interface panel because he lets out a groan. A string of groans.

Magnus feels a horrifying flush of arousal. This is unbecoming of him, watching his subordinates in an amateur pornography. He scrambles to close the video.

But Springer’s voice throws him.

“Ultra Magnus,” he cries, grinding back against Arcee, “I was thinking about Magnus!”

Magnus is flabbergasted. Springer, self-services over _him_.

Meanwhile Arcee’s arm is still moving in the shadow of Springer’s legs.

“I bet you would like him to touch you like this,” she croons, much to Magnus’ horror, “With those big hands.”

Springer only moans in response.

“Would you let him spike you?” Arcee carries on, “I bet he would fill you up so deliciously. Would you like that Springer?”

“Y-yes,” Springer hisses.

There’s a click that Magnus knows must be the mech’s valve casing. He can just make out the trickle of lubricant that falls from between Springer’s legs to pool on the berth.

Shouldn’t be watching this, his processor screams. Shouldn’t be watching this.

But he’s transfixed, paralysed by perverse curiosity. He watches, well aware dignity and self-control are slipping through his servos. His frame is throbbing with heat and he despairs at the sight of Arcee hunkering further down behind Springer, the way she licks her lips.

“So wet,” she moves her arm and Magnus can imagine her fingers teasing around the edge of Springer’s valve, “What would Magnus think of you getting all hot over him?”

“Come _on_ ‘Cee,” a bit of Springer’s usual gruffness slips back. He clenches his servos in agitation, “Frag.”

Arcee chortles. She pulls her arm back, eliciting a whine from Springer. Her fingers are damp, glistening. A shudder passes through Magnus’ frame as she raises them briefly to her mouth, tasting them with a slow flick of her glossa. Then she lowers herself on both servos, angling her face between Springer’s legs.

“Finally!” Springer groans.

Magnus can hear the slurp of a tongue. Arcee shifts slightly, trying to get a better angle. The wet sounds resume, accompanied by moans from Springer. The sound of Magnus’ own fans are deafening. He’s dimly aware of his spike pressurizing, pressing against the wall of his interface panel.

There’s something horribly, disturbingly erotic about Arcee pleasuring Springer from behind, the way he squirms, the drip of more lubricant onto the berth, pooling near Springer’s knees.  

“You’re so good,” Springer manages between jagged vents, “So good at that ‘Cee. I love you. I love you.”

There’s a muffled sound from Arcee. Without falling out of rhythm she reaches between her own legs. The tip of her spike bobs into view, she grasps it with one servo. She threads in time with the grind of Springer’s hips, her face still firmly lodged between his legs.

It’s too much for Magnus. His spike feels as though it might pop his panel clean off to break free. He can’t think straight, the arousal is too unbearable. There’s shame as he opens his panel, spike spring free, shame of what he’s about to do. But not enough to dissuade him, not with the footage still playing on screen, his desperate need for release.

Magnus grasps his spike, the first time in a long time. Perhaps if he had self-serviced recently the need wouldn’t be this great. But he had prided himself on self-restraint. Now he is nothing more than a failure.

But it’s the most exquisite failure. He falls into rhythm with the couple on screen, so in sync that it almost feels like he is there in the room with them. He imagines presses himself against Arcee’s valve while she continues to pleasure Springer, running a slick servo over her spike. 

He bites his lip hard to suppress a moan, hips lifting in his seat, rocking as though he’s thrusting inside Arcee. He can feel a tremble in his thighs. He’s _close_. 

But then Arcee draws back from Springer’s thighs, lips shining and wet. It disrupts Magnus’ fantasy so much he halts, with a great deal of agony.

“No, no, no,” Springer is groaning, “Not yet, not yet.”

“I want you to spike me,” Arcee says, servo still slowly fisting her spike, “On your back.”

Springer complies. Now Magnus has clear view of his leaking valve, especially when Springer spreads his legs a little further. He frees his spike, fully-pressurized, top smeared with pre-fluid. Arcee clambers forward, coming to straddle Springer’s sides, valve hovering just above Springer’s spike.

She lowers herself, carefully at first, until Springer’s spike is pressing at the entrance of her valve. Then she grinds down, in one harsh, determined motion that causes the two of them to arch with a cry.

Arcee recovers more quickly than Springer, despite the tremendous stretch of valve to accommodate the mech’s girth, she seems to be gritting her denta as she begins to bounce, rather relentlessly.

Springer goes to pieces underneath, large hands clasping the plating of her thighs as she continues to slam down on top of him, helm tilted back, mouth open in delight.

Magnus falls back into rhythm almost unconsciously. He imagines thrusting into Springer’s mouth, as Arcee rides the green mech's spike. She’s pumping herself feverishly as she does so, a pace Magnus matches, bringing him all too swiftly towards climax. He struggles to hold back, waiting for the couple to reach their own.

Springer hits his peak first. Magnus can see the run off as Arcee continues to drive herself on top of him. A stream of transfluid erupts from her spike and Magnus overloads hard across his own thighs.

He slumps back in his chair, eyeing the mess shamefully. Now the heat of desperation has subsided, he feels the sharp twinge of regret. He should have had more self-control than this.

He goes to close the video but pauses. Arcee is leaning over the mess she has made on Springer’s chest to kiss the triple-changer passionately. 

Then they turn and look directly at the camera. Grinning.

“Hi Magnus!”

Magnus nearly falls off his chair in surprise.


End file.
